Chapter 20

"Super speed?"

Peter didn't open his eyes. "Yes."

The kitchen chair, pulled up in the bathroom, wasn't comfortable. He shifted slightly.

"Extra taste buds?"

"No."

Silence again. Silence except for the quiet hiss of her flames. But they were slowing. Her wings had receded. Now she was in the bathtub with just a normal covering of flames.

"No bad hair days?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Peter answered. "Have you seen McCall's hair?"

"Bulletproof?"

"We bleed, but we heal. Quickly."

She shifted slightly and Peter opened an eye. The phoenix was moving, trying to get more comfortable in her inflammable tub. They had been like this for the past couple hours. She had started quizzing him on werewolf benefits. He wondered if she was trying to figure out what powers he had, when shifted or not, and how many of those would extend to her. Truthfully, he knew little about phoenixes. Their rarity meant there wasn't a wealth of information about them.

She moved again and Peter frowned. "Do you need a pillow?"

Henley cut a look toward him. "So I can burn it?"

He cocked his head, studying her. "Your clothes don't burn."

"Not always," she answered, moving restlessly again, trying to get comfortable.

The thought of her clothing sometimes burning…he discarded that thought before it could develop. He could care less if the phoenix sometimes ended up au naturale because of her flames. He wasn't going to picture it.

"Are you almost done for the night?" he asked, his words coming harsher than he intended when the thought of her clothes turning to ash led to images he didn't invite.

She fidgeted again, her legs exposed, bare feet with toenails painted dark purple moving in the tub. Her skirt hardly counted as clothing and the flames weren't opaque.

He looked away quickly.

"If I knew how to turn the flames off, I would," she snapped at him.

"You need to figure it out," he snapped back at her.

She glared at him, gathering her legs under her and pushing to stand. He rose from his chair, his own energy needing an outlet after the uneasy night.

She stepped out of the tub and got up close to him, heat radiating off her. She tilted her head back to scowl up at him. "I'm not the one who made me into this." Her words nearly vibrated with anger.

Peter felt his mouth tighten into a line. "Get back in the bathtub," he said.

She glared at him and her eyes glowed brighter. Any exhaustion that had been taking the edge off her flames was clearly gone, driven away by her frustration.

Well, that made two of them.

"I shouldn't have to be stuck here," she shot at him. "Hiding in my bathroom. While that pack gets to sleep in their own beds. Making me think they had my back, when they were lying to me the entire time!"

Peter flexed the fingers in his hand, ready to grab her and toss her back in the tub.

She started to turn. "They should be the ones on fire!"

Before she could start toward the door, and presumably go start people on fire, Peter grabbed her arm, bracing himself for the burn.

He jerked her towards him. She responded with a shout, and shoved at him with her other hand. He grabbed that hand and pinned it to her side.

"I'll burn you, too!" she threatened, leaving Peter with little doubt she meant it when she tried to break free of his grip. Her muscles vibrated, shaking, every ounce of control clearly spent. "I'll light you on fire! I'll raze the high school and make them wish—"

He shoved his face into the flame and crashed his lips into hers. His hands were taken, and it was all he had to shut her up.

Her gasp of surprise was hot against his lips. It only heated the fire that was starting in him. He pulled her closer.

And then she was against him. Pressed tight to him. He held onto her arms, one hand around her wrist, barely aware of her pulse thudding rapidly against his fingers. But she wasn't pulling away. She was matching his need. All he could feel was her. Her lips, no longer parted in shock, moving against him in desire. Her teeth scraping against his.

His breathing grew ragged. He dropped her arm and plunged his hands into her hair, needing her closer, deepening the kiss, finding her tongue. Her hands moved to his chest, gripping his shirt, her fingers radiating heat. Heat was all around him.

Heat.

Fire.

He suddenly jerked away. His skin was completely unscathed. No burns. But flames surrounded him.

Henley blinked, her chest heaving, eyes unfocused. Lips swollen. His eyes landed on her lips, still feeling them against his own.

Then her eyes were clearing and she looked at him, widening with shock when she saw him in the flames with her.

"So it's not just your clothes that don't always burn," he said, As if he wasn't burning in other ways. His voice sounded strangled.

She stared at him. Stared at the flames. Back at him. Then launched herself away from him.

The air in her apartment wasn't cool. Not with the human torch on fire all night. But it was cooler than being ensconced in her flames with her. Cooler than the heat of his lips finding hers.

The flames started dying down while she stared at him. She stood there, unblinking, her lips slightly parted. Sparks fell to the ground, melting new marks. The sparks fell faster, flames turning to sparks and melting off her until it was just Henley standing there.

Henley, who had just tangled him in the most passionate kiss he could remember experiencing.

Henley, who hated him. Who he didn't trust. Who didn't trust him.

The phoenix.

He needed to find safer ground. "Thanks for your hospitality," he said. "And for not burning me to an ember."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Now that it's safe for you to leave your bathroom, I'll be leaving."

He strode from the cramped room, down the short hall. He needed space. He had to get away from her.

He was almost to the door when he heard the hiss of flames and turned just in time to see the fireball launched at his back. He jumped aside and it incinerated the wall it fired into.

Henley stared at him, wild eyed.

So he wasn't the only one shaken by the kiss.

Another ball of flame built in her hand and she moved her arm to fling it. He made it out the door before it could land.

He continued to stride downstairs, across the parking lot, into his car. He slammed the door shut. His hands gripped the wheel, pulling at the leather cover, tearing it as he held them there.

What had just happened?

#

What had just happened? Henley built another ball of fire and hurled it at the closed door behind Peter.

She stood there, gasping for breath, anger and confusion roiling through her until it started to drain. And then there was nothing left. Nothing left to hold her up. She sank to the floor.

Peter had kissed her.

She had liked it.

She hadn't burned him.

She had no idea which thought to grab hold of, they all spiraled in her head.

Without the warmth of the flames curling around her, and by herself in her apartment, she was…empty.

She had lost control after an attempt at a first date. And then found out the people she thought were there for her, maybe becoming friends of some sort, had been lying to her. Pretending to be friendly, even planting Isaac near her, just to make sure she didn't hurt anyone. They didn't actually care about her.

She shoved herself to her feet. She made it to her room and flopped onto her bed. Rolling over onto her back she stared at the ceiling.

She could still feel Peter's hands on her. Imprisoning her in his grip at first, but then it had shifted and he was…holding her. Touching her.

She brushed her hand over her wrist where she could still feel his touch.

It was nothing like kissing Bobby. Nothing controlled or hesitant or polite about it.

It was…

Wow.

She closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her face.

Considering she had gone into the night never having been kissed, she had more than made up for it.

She kept replaying the kiss with Peter, any kiss with Bobby falling by the wayside of her thoughts. And then heart thudding as she started to panic about kissing Peter.

She laid awake for a long time until the exhaustion of the night finally overtook her as the sun came up.

#

Henley managed to drag herself into work only five minutes late.

"You're late," Wilton said without any censure.

"It was a weird night," she said. "I couldn't sleep." And when she did sleep, she had visions of Peter being brought into her flames with her.

But it wasn't the lack of sleep that had made her late. She had gone into the bathroom, into the inflammable bathtub, and burned a dishtowel. Then she had pulled a bath towel from the towel bar, set it on the edge of the tub, and focused on her flames. Made them grow until her arm was consumed with flames and reached out for the towel.

She had burned the edge of the towel and quickly drew back. But she had regrouped and tried again. And again. Until finally she had picked up the towel, held it in her hand and not burned it.

She had been so engrossed in her makeshift experiment, she had lost all track of time. She had grabbed a chocolate dipped protein bar on her way out the door as her breakfast and lunch, and immediately melted the chocolate into a dripping mess all over her hand. She had gone back into her apartment to wash her hands and try again to get some sort of lunch and finally made it to work five minutes after three.

She dropped her bag behind the counter. The bell over the door jingled and two familiar teenagers walked in.

Wilton had already left her to the register and gone into his office to scour eBay for rare and vintage vinyl.

"No," Henley said as they approached the counter. "Go away."

"Look, we just wanted to apologize—" Scott started.

"Well I don't want to forgive," she snapped.

A customer looked up from the racks of records she was browsing. Henley lowered her voice.

"You guys need to go," she hissed.

"We never meant to lie to you about Isaac," Stiles said, putting his palms on the counter and leaning toward her.

Henley put her own hand on the metal counter and heated it until Stiles let out a yelp and jumped back, shaking his hands against the burn. Henley gave him a nonplussed look.

"Fine," Stiles admitted. "We did mean to lie to you. We planned it out. But it was for your own good. So you could have a friend. Sort of…a buddy. Like the buddy system for supernaturals. Someone to keep an eye on you."

Henley glared at them.

"We just want to help," Scott said.

Help by constantly following her around? She felt the annoyance bloom in her chest. Or by lying to her? Pretending she was part of their group—their pack or whatever it was called—and it was nothing more than a lie. The annoyance burned hotter when it turned to hurt.

Her vision sharpened and colors brightened and she knew exactly what color her eyes were turning.

"Get. Out." She bit the words out through clenched teeth. She kept her hands visible and let them see flames flicker out from her fingertips.

They both took a quick step back and looked around. Neither one of the customers was looking their way.

"If you need anything," Scott said. "You can call."

"Or send up a smoke signal," Stiles said helpfully.

She narrowed her eyes.

They both took another step back and hurried to the door.

Henley lowered her head and took a steadying breath. She blew it out and let her vision settle back to normal.

Normal. She held back a huff at that thought. She had no idea what was normal anymore. Maybe she never really had. Her dad and brother had lied to her for years. And then Scott and Stiles and their friends had lied to her. She was forever going to be on the outside of secrets and relationships. She wasn't ever going to belong anywhere. To be normal.

"Rough day?"

Henley jolted at the voice. It was pure reflex now to shove her hands in her pockets to make sure she hid any flames ignited by loose emotions.

The customer at the counter looked at her with concern, his sandy brow lowered.

She recognized him. He was a regular. He had terrible taste in music, but was a nice enough guy.

"Rough…" she trailed off. Week? Month? Year? She mentally shook herself. "Rough day," she agreed.

He nodded. He glanced around the nearly empty shop. "You know, you seemed a little jumpy lately."

Henley frowned. The last thing she needed was someone interfering in what was happening with her.

He held up placating hands at her scowl. "No judgment. Just…if you want something to take the edge off, I can help."

She stared at him.

He smiled and reached in his pocket. Pulled out a small plastic bag with three white pills and slid it across the counter. "Give it a try. It'll make a rough day sail by."

Henley took the bag without thinking. She looked at him.

He gave her a small nod. "If that doesn't make things better, it'll at least give you a little vacation." He started toward the door. "Have Wilton give me a call if he finds an original Lionel Richie."

And then he was gone.

Henley rubbed her hand against her forehead. A tension headache that seemed to be directly related to any interaction with Scott and Stiles was building. She just wanted this day to be over.

#

Peter threw himself into locating hunters. The Dawson family had been somewhere in Maine, but they were moving. A branch of the Argent family was in Miami. The Calaveras were all over Mexico. He looked up information online, called contacts. He wasn't going to wait around forever for vengeance.

It was easier to focus on why he had originally attacked Henley than to think of anything else about her. Especially about—

It was nothing. He had just wanted to stop her before she raged herself into an inferno. Instead, something had ignited in him.

He slammed his laptop shut. With supreme control, he rolled his neck, stretching kinks out. His shoulders were knotted with tension. Tension from an obnoxious phoenix.

He shoved back from his desk. His den was dark, even though it was mid afternoon. He liked the dark wood paneling, and deep colored walls. But he wasn't going to accomplish anything in here.

He was going to get the hunters to come to him.

#

Henley closed up the record store. Another day done. She had made it through.

She stuck the keys in her pocket and felt the plastic bag there.

She wasn't going to take them. The thought of doing drugs was foreign. After twelve years of school and hearing 'just say no', she wasn't even considering the pills. She'd throw them away.

"Henley."

She froze, then quickened her steps.

"Henley!"

She didn't have the energy for this. She picked up her pace. "Leave me alone," she said without turning.

Isaac caught up and fell into step alongside her. "Alison told me you found out."

The words only pitched the anger back into her chest. They had left her place last night and gone to talk about her. It only reinforced how on the outside she was.

Her throat ached with a ball of emotion. She had never cared that she didn't belong before now. In every town her dad had moved them to, she had accepted she didn't fit in, or didn't connect with anyone. She had accepted that. She hadn't expected anything different.

"That you lied to me?" she shoved out past the lump in her throat. "Yeah, I found out."

"I'm sorry," Isaac said.

Henley clenched her fists and kept walking.

"We shouldn't have lied to you," he said.

"I was worried about you," she said, whirling to face him. "I was actually worried about you getting hurt by them." She glared at him. "And you're one of them." She was an idiot.

Isaac didn't say anything.

"Right?" she asked. "You're a—a werewolf? Coyote? Demon dog?"

"I think you mean hell hound," Isaac said. He tried for a smile, but stopped when she kept glaring at him. "Yeah," he answered her, sobering. "Werewolf."

"You're one of them," she summarized. And she wasn't. She spun away from him and started walking again.

"So are you," Isaac said, falling into step with her.

Henley couldn't hold back her huff of sarcastic laughter. Yeah, she was one of them. That's why they pretended to befriend her when really they were just trying to make sure she didn't destroy the town.

"There's a thing tonight. A party," Isaac said. "You should come."

It was a literal pity party invitation. Going was the last thing she was doing. She picked up her pace. Isaac's long legs made it easy for him to keep up.

"It's not just us. There will be other people there. You can avoid us all you want.

Henley hadn't even gone to parties with her own classmates when she was in high school.

There was no way she wanted to make peace with the supernatural faction of Beacon Hills. She wanted to pretend they didn't exist and never see them again.

"It's got to be better than being alone in your apartment, right?"

That gave her pause. Not passing another night alone and with her thoughts, especially now that her thoughts centered on Peter and that kiss…

No. She wasn't going to go hang out with Isaac and the rest of them that had lied to her. She would never be that desperate for company. They had made it beyond clear that she wasn't one of them. She was just a threat they had to baby-sit.

"Look, I'll text you the address. If you want to."

She should block his number. She kept walking.

Isaac pulled out his phone. She felt her own phone buzz in her pocket, but ignored it.

She heaved a sigh and turned to face him. She was tired. No, she was done. Done with all of them. Whatever Isaac saw on her face had him frowning. But he didn't push anymore.

"I'm just…I'm just really sorry about everything," he said.

She steeled her heart against his sincerity. She wasn't believing anything he said.

She turned away from him and started walking again. This time he didn't follow.

But she didn't go to her apartment. She didn't want to see the damage she'd incurred over the past week. And she definitely didn't want to see where she had stood and let Peter haul her against him and part her lips with his mouth and—

She abruptly turned toward the high school. She shook her hands lightly, releasing tight muscles and dimming the sparks that grazed her skin.

At the high school, she went inside and then paused. She wasn't sure if Bobby was even here. Lacrosse practice was clearly over. The parking lot lights were starting to come on outside.

She had been in Beacon Hills for part of her eighth grade year. She didn't even know where the economics classroom would be in the high school.

She turned down one hallway, then another. Her shoes squeaked on the linoleum, echoing in empty hallways. A few classroom doors were open, teachers at their desks grading papers.

She moved to the second floor. There were fewer classroom lights on up here. She ignored the bulletin boards, full of flyers for clubs and activities. Sign up sheets for elective field trips and try outs. She hadn't done any of that in any of the schools she had attended. The brightly colored papers were just another reminder of everything she had missed. Everything she had been left out of.

She almost passed Bobby's open door, lost in a tangle of hurt and loneliness when she thought of high school and supernaturals.

She caught a glimpse of dark hair and stopped at the door.

He was a nice guy. And they had fun together. She hesitated. For all her worries about Isaac being friends with werewolves and getting hurt, she was putting Bobby in the same position. He could get burned. Literally.

"Hey," she said before she stopped herself.

His head snapped up from the papers on his desk. His face immediately lit up. "Hey," he answered.

Henley hovered in the doorway, suddenly uncertain. They had one date and now she showed up at his work?

"Come on in," he said. He jumped up from his chair and held it out to Henley.

She sat in it while he shuffled papers around on his desk. A bottle on the corner of his desk caught her eye.

He looked over. "Oh that's…that's not mine. I confiscated it. Some idiot thought he could carry it in his backpack to school."

"You don't drink whiskey?" she asked. He had mentioned he didn't drink while they were on their date.

"Not anymore," he said. He picked up the bottle. She read the name.

Fireball. She eyed the red figure on the label, flames stretched out behind the monster, claws on full display. And a tail. At least she didn't have a tail.

She plucked the bottle from his hand. She didn't want to look at that label anymore.

"So you just stopped by?" Bobby asked.

Henley turned the bottle over in her lap so the label wasn't facing her anymore. "I thought I'd see if you had plans tonight."

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Grading papers. Midterm grades are due tomorrow."

"Oh." Of course he was busy. He had a real job. It wasn't like he could just drop everything so she didn't have to go home yet.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking like he meant it. "If I didn't have to get through fifty papers showing none of these kids listens to a word I say—"

"No. Yeah. I mean, it's fine." Henley stood quickly. "I should go. Let you get back to work."

He stood too. "I'll call you tomorrow. If that's ok?"

She forced a smile. "Yeah, tomorrow." Did her voice have to sound so strained? "Talk to you then," she said, moving toward the door before the tension moved from her voice to her hands in the form of flames.

She left quickly, not realizing until she was down the stairs and leaving the school that she still held the bottle of whiskey in her hand.

#

"Your dad's going to kill you. You know that, right?" Scott asked.

Stiles slung his arm around Scott's shoulder. "Have you heard the phrase, 'I'll die a happy man'?"

Scott felt his eyebrows lift. "You're going to be happy when your dad kills you?"

"I'm going to be happy that for once, I'm not a social pariah. Look at this!" He swept his arm out at their classmates filling the house, music coming from speakers and a dull roar of conversation beneath it. "It's called social currency, Scott. And I'm earning it."

Scott had his doubts, but kept them to himself. If Stiles was fine with being grounded for all eternity, that was his choice. Besides, it was Stiles. He'd talk down the punishment after a week or two.

"You want to go outside?" Kira asked, coming up and linking an arm through his. "The stars are coming out."

Scott gave the growing party one more wary look before giving Kira a smile. "Yeah. Sounds good."

#

Henley took a long drink of the whiskey. She had never drank before. But she had read books, heard people talk. Alcohol was supposed to burn on the way down. She didn't feel anything. She was always heating up, the whiskey couldn't compare to that. She took another long drink.

She was wandering the park, the shadows long since having took over, night falling heavily. She had nowhere to go. No one to be with.

She thought of the party Isaac had mentioned. Took another drink.

She had missed out on normal high school experiences. And now she was going to miss out on normal life. All because Peter had decided to use her as a punishment for her dad and brother. As if they even cared what happened to her.

The whiskey was kind of warming her. Different from her flames. More mellow. More…liquid.

Why should she have to go home alone while everyone else got to be at a party?

She may have missed out on parties and a social life while she was in high school, but she wasn't missing out now. She had only graduated last year. It wasn't too late for a high school party.

Suddenly determined to do something normal, she pulled out her phone and looked at the address Isaac had texted earlier. It wasn't far from the park. On the edge of town if she was thinking of the right street. She took one more long drink for the walk and started that direction.

#